– Dad is driving and his young son is sitting between his knees, his wife is sitting primly side-saddle with a new baby in her arms, and their tiny daughter is sandwiched on the seat between her mum and dad. No one wears a helmet and all of them are carrying something like a shopping bag or a lunchbox or even a sack of rice.
At the roundabout-of-no-rules, I hold on even tighter and bite down on my lower lip to stop myself squealing in terror as we join the weaving masses, where just one vehicle either slowing or hesitating or wobbling would cause absolute carnage.
We somehow manage to come through unscathed and as we judder to a halt at the next set of traffic lights, I’m distracted from the mayhem of the death-defying junction ahead of us by the sights on either side of me. There is a large monkey sitting quietly in the front basket of a motorbike to my left and of the two men astride a small scooter to my right, one of them is carrying a fridge. It’s certainly an interesting and exhilarating way to get around town.
On my first morning in Chiang Mai, I wake early, just as the sun is coming up. I make myself a cup of coffee from the hospitality tray in my room and take it out onto the first-floor terrace that overlooks the street. I had expected the street to be deserted at this time of the day, but the opposite is true. I see lots of people lining the street, all holding bags of food or bowls of fruit and bottles of water, and they all seem to be waiting for something or someone.
Soon, along comes a posse of bald monks wrapped in saffron coloured robes, all carrying bowls. I’d say they were begging bowls, except clearly these monks don’t need to beg.
I watch, fascinated, as the monks walk slowly and purposefully down the street in a single line, oldest first, gracefully and humbly, and mostly barefoot. Then I see Noon, my landlady, standing at the roadside too. I watch her take a step into the path of an approaching monk and lay her offerings onto a cloth on the ground before him. She quickly drops to her knees in front of him with her head lowered and her hands pressed tightly together at her forehead. The monk stops in front of her and picks up the bag of cooked rice and the fruit she has laid down and places them in his bowl before giving her a blessing. His melodic chanting fills the street and floats into the air to reach my ears.
I go back inside feeling like I’ve just witnessed something very special indeed.
Later, I ask Noon if this procession happens every day or just on special occasions.
She explains that the monks are from a nearby temple and they rely on the people of the town to offer them ‘alms’ of food, water, and sometimes medicine. ‘Every morning, the monks walk along the street to collect what they need for the day. We offer rice, fruit, some steamed vegetables, all to show our love and respect. But, if the giver is a woman, she must never offer her gifts by hand. She must lay down a cloth between them as the monk is forbidden to ever touch a woman.’
‘And the chanting? What does that mean?’ I ask her.
‘That is a Buddhist blessing to honour me with a happy and purposeful life.’
‘A happy and purposeful life…’ I repeat wistfully.
Her words strike a chord, and I decide right at that moment that all I want in my life is to be happy and purposeful. It doesn’t seem such a lot to want or to ask for and yet to be blessed with those two simple ingredients in my life would mean that I have everything to live and to thrive.
‘And can anyone get blessed by a monk?’ I ask.
Noon laughs and tells me that in Chiang Mai there are over three hundred temples and that in any one of them, should I wish, I can be blessed by a monk.
I immediately tell her that I’d like to stay on here for another two nights.
Then I go out to seek as many temples and as many blessings as I can possibly find.
According to my guidebook, the most significant temple in Chiang Mai is Wat Doi Suthep, which is also one of the holiest Buddhist sites in Thailand. It’s the one every pilgrim or tourist has at the top of their hitlist. The temple sits on the top of a mountain and it overlooks the city.
I take a ‘songthaew’ open back taxi truck with several other Western tourists and we head up the winding mountain road, soon finding ourselves surrounded by dense tropical forest. In the trees, our driver points out colourful birds and small swinging monkeys. I strain my eyes to see them in the wild. I’m captivated by all the monkeys!
As we make our way further up the mountain road, we drive higher and higher past (supposedly haunted) waterfalls that fall dramatically from the cliffs above us and then gather in glistening pools far below us. I feel like I’m on a wild and epic adventure.
When the taxi truck pulls up and we all climb out, it’s clear we’re not quite there yet, as there is still a towering staircase ahead of us to climb. I brace myself for the ascent but I’m stopped from going any further by a small Thai woman, who I assume is trying to sell me something. I politely decline her several times, but she is ever more insistent, waving a garment at me and shouting ‘naughty knees, naughty knees!’
Fortunately, another tourist helps me out. It turns out that I’m being asked to ‘rent’ one of her long skirts because the hemline of the dress I’m wearing is not below the knee and therefore not respectable enough for visiting the holy temple. Embarrassed, I humbly apologise, pay the small baht fee for the skirt and attach it by its Velcro fastenings around my waist.
Then I huff and puff my way up the three hundred steps or so – but I’m not counting.
I do stop occasionally to take some photos of the views both above and beneath me, and of the incredibly colourful and jewel-like mosaic balustrade of a seven-headed serpent undulating all the way along the staircase. According to my guidebook, this is the longest ‘naga’ or ‘water serpent’ in Thailand. I find the climb as beautiful as it is exhausting.
At the top, although still on the lower terrace, I catch my breath by admiring a life-sized effigy of a white elephant. A plaque explains its significance and its interesting history. In the fourteenth century, a white elephant carrying a relic belonging to Buddha stopped here high on the mountain and after trumpeting three times, the white elephant died. The king at the time believed this to be an omen and that is why the magnificent temple was built here so long ago.
I walk on past rows upon rows of large polished brass bells towards the upper terrace where, after removing my flip flops and leaving them in a pile with many others, I find a multitude of smaller temples, ornate shrines, Buddha statues and golden umbrellas. In the centre of the terrace, I stand breathlessly in the bright glaring sunshine, bedazzled by a huge, gold, pagoda-style temple. It is so bright and shiny that I’m sure it can be seen from space. This is the impressive and magnificent centrepiece of Wat Doi Suthep.
After taking in the stunning views of the whole of Chiang Mai around me and strolling around the cloisters in the sunshine admiring everything ancient and colourful and shiny, I see a crowd flocking into one of the smaller chapels and I decide to follow them.
Inside, the chamber is lit by hundreds of candles and in the centre of the glow is a huge effigy of a lion. There is also a monk, who in Thai and then in fluent English, is telling the story of Phra Singh – the Lion Buddha – whose image is set with a really scary face.
He says this is to remind us ‘that just like the lion it is our nature to live bravely’.
From here, feeling slightly braver, I notice a line-up of several other young monks entering another of the minor temples and I
